


Pamela On Her Deathbed

by amyfortuna



Category: Smallville
Genre: Drama, Episode Related, F/F, F/M, Smallville Slash Archive, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-01
Updated: 2003-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-03 13:31:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Lex arrives in Pamela's hospital room, Pamela thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pamela On Her Deathbed

He looks like her. I could always see it, even when he was little, but now that he has grown up, it is even more obvious - Alexander Luthor looks like his mother.

A thousand small tricks, which, doubtless, his father has tried to train out of him, tell the story of their resemblance. The way he moves, with the ease and lazy self-confident grace of a cat, brings Lillian to my mind, walking down a sidewalk in the midst of falling leaves, looking like a fall-burnt leaf herself, and laughing. His eyes remind me of the eyes I drowned in years ago. And his lips....

That is a memory I think of every day of my life, and will until I die. Her lips, and the red-gold glow of her hair, falling into my dreams, touching me inside and out, and my world shaken.

In college, years ago before our ways divided, we shared a room, and the color of our hair. We were the only two redheads in the class, and we were inseparable.

Lillian was always more beautiful than I, of course. She kept her skin pale when everyone else was trying to tan as dark as possible. She found (some said she had created) a lipstick that just matched the color of her hair and wore it every day. Her clothes were always made by top designers, and she looked like a flaming rose, lighting up day and night.

It took me, little Pamela from the country, about ten seconds to fall madly in love with her. Not that I ever would have admitted it, even to myself.

I still don't know why she decided that I was worth her time and attention, but somehow she did. It was more than just being nice to an outsider, I could tell. There was something about her that just drew everyone in, moth to flame.

Even Lionel Luthor. It didn't take much time before he had his eyes set on her, on my pretty Lillian.

She never got to graduate from college. He married her the Christmas before graduation, and I came back after the holidays to an empty room, and a broken heart. I wasn't even at their wedding.

It was in that long spring without her that I began to realize just how much I'd dreamed about her, how empty my life was with her gone. How much I loved her.

Yes, now, after all these years, I can admit it to myself. I loved her.

After her son - Alexander - was born, she called me to tell me, and I found myself crying, broken in pieces by the sound of her voice. I'd married too, divorced him two years later. Lillian and I had lost track of each other. A Christmas card, maybe, was all we exchanged in those intervening years.

But when I heard her voice again, I had to come and see her. I had to know myself if she was happy.

She was. And she wasn't. She loved Alexander, of course, but there was something missing in her life.

And it was me.

I never would have believed it if she hadn't told me exactly that.

We took a long walk down a woodsy path, where the leaves were falling. Alexander was nearly three at the time, and between chasing after him to keep him in check, Lillian and I talked.

"If anything ever happens to me," she said, "if you can, if he" - she never referred to Lionel by his name - "lets you, I want you to raise my son."

I promised her I would. And she laughed, and kissed me.

"I trust you," she said simply. What went unspoken was that she didn't trust him.

I wasn't able to keep my promise. In spite of that, Alexander seems to be his own person. Lillian would be proud. I am proud.

I loved him like my own because I loved her like she was my own. He may not grant me forgiveness, but she will.

She will.


End file.
